


by land or by sea

by Kt_fairy



Series: by land or by sea [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Do not post to another site, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Partying, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, THE DRESS, beechey island, gratuitous sea shanty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: "What’s all this?" James asked, a glimmer in his dark eyes, and Henry knew he was done for.“We’re tryin’ ta get a song out of the Lieutenant, Commander.”“Oh, then I insist Dundy! Your voice has such a rich, full timbre.”ORA Fitzconte fic no-one asked for and yet I did it anyway





	by land or by sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsKingBean89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsKingBean89/gifts).

> well, maybe some people did. Anyway, enjoy the lads. A link to the song featured is in the notes at the end if you want to listen to it.
> 
> \- impossible without my partner in boat crimes, jammiest of jams

It was a peculiar thing this 'arctic night', because it wasn't that dark at all. Not as it would be on a proper sun off to bed, moon cutting a dash night as Henry was used to. 

Everything was bathed in a strange blueness that Sir John had said was caused by the starlight and the general whiteness of the ice. It was a damnable singular thing whatever it was, and not overly pleasant if Henry were to be honest.

But those were thoughts for other times, such as when he had the watch, or was out on the ice with James aiding him with all his readings and experiments and turning cogs as was demanded of him. Now was the party to welcome the sun to 1846, and it was the most jovial and good spirited gathering of men he had ever seen.

All sorts of things had been built from the ice. Mr.Blanky had been delighted to find an approximation of a tavern bar and had set himself up behind it, being aggressively merry, and some of the men had constructed a crude, if not (from Henry's' limited experience) inaccurate, sculpture of a scantily clad lady around which were benches moulded from the snow and decked out in coloured flags and blankets to give it a most jolly appearance.

A dance floor had been compacted from the fresh snow, and much to everyone's surprise it had been Crozier who had suggested the placement of mirrors and looking glasses behind all the lights surrounding it, giving the whole thing a glitter as if it were Kensington Palace. 

Those lights, lamps and candles of all sorts, had been collected from both ships, and some men from _Erebus_ under Mr.Goodsir's direction had constructed coloured lanterns to place around some of them. They painted the ice and the dancing figures in all sorts of pretty colours that swirled in with the skirts of those who were providing the ladies for the festivities.

Henry was slightly disappointed that he had not been amongst them - mutton chops had been voted most unladylike in a wardroom conference on the subject - but the entertainment he had gained from the sight of James and Graham, both wearing capital gowns over their woollens, opening the dancing with Dr.Macdonald and Mr.MacBean had _ more _ than made up for it in jolliness. 

Those who were be-gowned acted the part of fine ladies well despite being more robustly made than the belles of the ball found back home, and from the number of men limping were of much heavier footfall also. Not James though, he was as sprightly on his big feet as anything, and was not allowing the temperature to dampen his sparkle one bit. He had even worked to brighten Crozier up a little bit, drawing not only a smile but a laugh from the man, which must be an arctic miracle.

James had also managed to get Edward Little, a fellow who was the very definition of ‘hang dog’, around the dance floor, while Graham had hopped around with Mr.Collins in perfect jolliness.

Henry had himself taken a turn with Jopson - who would have made an alarmingly compelling lady if not for his inability to follow another's lead - and upon spotting James’ attention turned his way had ventured to make himself scarce. James would catch him at some point this evening, he was a man who got what he wanted any which way, but Henry never found easy prey very sporting at all.

He set himself up by the group of men who were singing along raucously to the band that Lieutenant Hodgson was doing a stand up job of leading. Everything was really rather excellent; music was fine, the men were jolly, and the mixture of good cheer, plentiful food and liberal rations of rum had Henry feeling quite warm. The only time he had been warmer since they had left good old England had been in the meteorological hut they had set up in Disko Bay, the stove going like billy-o to pump out the foul smoke that the locals said kept the native sabre-toothed mosquito’s at bay. 

"Lieutenant Le Vesconte!" of course some of the men and a few of the petty officers still butchered the pronunciation somewhat, but it was harmless, and constantly correcting them was awful dull. "Lieutenant Le Vesconte. A Song!'

“I say!” Henry cried. “Good lord!”

“Oh please sir!”

“Sir, you be ‘aving such a fine voice, you do.”

“Sir!”

“A song! A Song. sir!”

"Far more of you men sing better than I, dare I say," Henry protested and a chorus of denial went up, a few going so far as to protest the fact they had ever sung a note in their life, '_perish the thought indeed, sir!' _ and Henry had the distinct feeling was about to be press ganged.

"Oh Henry, do go on," Graham called over the supplications, stomping over with his skirts hiked up and James trailing behind him with a touch more delicacy to his gate. But only a touch.

"What’s all this?" James asked, a glimmer in his dark eyes, and Henry knew he was done for.

“We’re tryin’ ta get a song out of the Lieutenant, Commander.”

“Oh, then I insist Dundy! Your voice has such a rich, full timbre.”

Henry looked from James towards Sir John who was sat upon a fine chair brought from the ships and watching proceedings like a venerable _ pater familias, _hoping he would gently declare it an improper familiarity.

“One can not turn down a lady, Henry,” Sir John said with obvious enjoyment, and Henry’s fate was sealed. 

“I should have allowed my face to be shaved and trussed myself up in silks,” he announced, much to the men’s enjoyment and, with a dire look for James who merely grinned behind his ridiculous fan, whispered to the fiddler what he was about to sing.

“By your leave ladies,” Henry said with a nod to Graham and James. “It shan’t be any fine work of song, a mere shanty,” a pronouncement which was received with great merriment from the men. 

_ Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme _

_ Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine _

_ Come lift up your voices, all grief to refrain _

_ For we may or might never all meet here again _

A cheer went up, a few of the men joining in as more started to make their way over to see what was causing the merriment. Henry turned his attention to James when he reached the chorus, returning his grin two fold as he spread his legs and patted his knee.

James, of course, made a show of considering it, allowing the men to realise what was about to happen before picking his way over to Henry with an exaggerated sashay of his hips.

_ Here's a health to the dear lass that I love so well _

_ For her style and her beauty there's none can excel _

_ There's a smile on her countenance as she sits upon my knee _

Henry paused when James sat himself daintily on his leg, taking him by the waist and hefting him along so his bony backside was not digging into his flesh. The men were in such a mood that even this was treated with much hilarity, ecstasies being reached when James slipped his arm around Henry's shoulders and lent into him.

_ There is no man in this wide world as happy as me _

James smelt of mothballs and rich, floral makassar oils. Their inordinate layers muffled another's body heat, but Henry still spread his fingers over the faint dip of his waist, smiling when he felt the soft warmth of James' breath against his cheekbone.

Henry glanced at Sir John as he considered the verse that was on the horizon, then to the men who always loved a bit of sauciness. Then out at the endless whiteness stretching into the distance beyond their little home of flickering lights, thinking of those three sad little graves set all alone out there.

_ Our ship lies at anchor, she is ready to dock _

He gave an exaggerated wink to the men as he let his hand wander all the way up James' thigh, and they hooted and called out as if they had just been flashed a shapely ankle. There were enough layers that all he was groping was wool and velvet, a barrier that allowed this touch to be comedic instead of damming - especially so when James provided a trilled, "Oh sir!"

_ I wish her safe landing without any shock _

_ And if ever I should meet you by land or by sea _

_ I will always remember your kindness to me _

Henry raised his glass to the men, meaning the toast with all his heart. For these were good men all, and with all the hardships and demises they had suffered over the winter it was good to see them in such high spirits again.

Mugs were raised in return, and voices drowned Henry out as all joined in the last chorus with the hearty singing sailors were so fond of.

_ So here's a health to the company and one to my lass _

_ Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass _

_ Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain _

_ For we may or might never all meet here again _

Two chorus' were sung, and then one of Rule Britannia as the spirit had taken everyone in such a way. 

James was laughing uproariously by the end of it, giddy enough that he would have tipped right off of Henry’s knee if he had not had a firm hold on him. 

“Was that to your liking?”

“T’was a bawdy and ribald song you sung to me, sir,” James huffed dramatically, kicking out his skirts as he said in an aside to the men. “Anchors and docks, indeed!”

“‘Pon my honour madam!” Henry protested with a grin as the men laughed.

“‘Pon _ your _ honour? You are the one who has me on his knee, sir. What of my honour!”

“Untarnished,” Henry said earnestly, resting his hand on the vicinity of James’ knee as he whispered so no other might hear, “But thoroughly docked.”

James’ eyes flashed, a bright colour returning to his cheeks, and he tapped Henry on the cheek almost tenderly with his fan. “Untarnished honour. I say, what a rare thing when sailors are around,” James declared, raising elegantly to his feet to the hooting laughter of the men and doing a deep curtsy to match Henry’s bow. 

“Now men, Sir John, _ Miss Gore_. If you do not mind, I shall request from Lieutenant Hodgson a Polka upon the barrel organ. If I might George?”

“Oh yes. Indeed James - or rather, Miss Fitzjames.”

"Capital," James pronounced and held his hand out to Henry, who, without a thought, grasped James’ gloved fingers. "If you would do me the honour, Lieutenant?"

He swept off his cap as he did his most dashing bow, tossing it to Graham who scrambled to catch it as Henry swept James into the proper hold for a polka. 

“I say,” James murmured at the display, his fingers tightening on Henry's shoulder as the barrel organ was wound into life.

It was a truly terrible instrument, tinny and hooting like a dyspeptic owl, but off went that peppy polka and off went the two of them, bounding through the men and off onto the glittering dance floor.

***

Sir John and Crozier had withdrawn just after the sun had bobbed its head over the horizon, and as the night wore on officers trailed back towards the ships to leave the men and petty officers to their fun. A liberty they were determined to make the most of, pelting Henry and James with snowballs and cheers when they retired for the evening - an action that James declared to be sign of the men’s affection for them both all while hurling a few well aimed missiles back. 

The other officers had made their way to _ Terror _ simply because that was where the Captains had headed to. James and Henry instead chose to trudge back to _ Erebus _ decorated in the snowy glories of their battle, stamping the sludge from their boots off on the deck - and making a delightful row as they did so - before hurrying down into the balmy interiors. 

There were signs of life aboard; Bridgens’ and the Captain of _ Terror’s _ Foretop were sat about a table discussing a lofty tome no doubt, a Marine waiting to go on duty was smoking quietly while entertaining himself with feeding Jacko pieces of biscuit, and there was the sound of someone speaking in the sickbay. Yet it still felt singularly peculiar to be aboard _ Erebus _ when she was so still and quiet. 

They made their way towards the wardroom while examining the events of the festivities as if it were their first season out, until, in the dimness of the cabin lined corridor, James came to a rather abrupt halt. 

Henry pulled up also (James was blocking the way so he had little choice in the matter) and gripped his hands tightly behind his back as James cocked his head and stepped in close enough that his skirts brushed the front of Henry’s trousers. They were as alone as anyone might be aboard ship, and Henry let his gaze rest upon James gently, allowing his tender feelings free reign to show themselves.

James’ mouth softened into a smile, and he reached up to brush his fingers not overly gently through Henry’s hair. "You've become thoroughly dusted in snow like a delicate Arab pastry."

Henry chuckled, shaking his head to try and dislodge the rest of it. “Not that you’d notice with how grey I’ve become.”

“It’s distinguished! Gives you a weighty air, Dundy. A nobility,” James’ eye glinted and he batted his dark lashes. “Although being alone with a young lady is most rascalish of you!”

“Young?” Henry asked, then shielded himself when James made to box his ears.

“You are the same age as me, you ill mannered brute!”

“_Mais je ne suis pas si charmant_, old boy. _ ” _

James was resistant to charm, so when he took Henry’s hands to gently rub some warmth into his fingers he was almost surprised. “I beg to differ,” James smiled, glanced about, and then took a smart stride backwards into his cabin, dragging Henry into stumbling after him.

“Steady on,” Henry mumbled, listening for the sound of footsteps coming towards them before sliding the cabin door closed behind him. “Easier ways to get a chap into your berth than manhandling him.”

“And what would you suggest?” James asked as he began twisting about trying to get to the laces of his gown. “A helping hand, if you please?”

“Turn about, will you. Or would you like me to take you in my arms as I undo your lacing?”

James stopped trying to fight with his bodice, dark eyes trailing up to meet Henry’s gaze. “You do dance a dashing a polka, sir, one could not be blamed for swooning into your arms,” he said with an arch of his eyebrow as he presented his back to Henry. 

“Who laced you up?” Henry muttered as he bent to try and pick at the neat bow at the small of James’ back. 

“Bridgens.”

“Blasted neat stewards knots...ah!” Henry said in triumph when he freed the laces, straightening as he tugged them open. 

This would be a more scandalous activity if James was not wearing a bulky woollen gansey beneath, and Henry allowed his memory to present the image of the elegant curve of muscle in James' back, his warm coloured skin supporting the occasional mole and the scars that came courtesy of China and Nebet. Henry could remember trailing fingertips between those marks, indulging himself in tracing imagined patterns while they had dried on the rocks after swimming in the crystal waters of the Persian gulf. 

When there was enough give Henry took the flouncy gown by the bottom of the bodice and hauled upwards. There was some struggling, and muffled cursing, but eventually James emerged from the ruffle of skirts with a great huff of breath, his neatly set waves in utter disarray. “I do not think that is how ladies remove their dresses, Henry!”

“They’d hardly drop it on the floor,” Henry looked at the dress, then at their still wet boots, then to James. “Surely?”

James made to speak, then shook his head as he took the garment from Henry and threw it over the rail of his bunk. “That is a most unwieldy form of clothing.”

“Ah, but you made a pretty enough picture. Veritable belle of the ball, eh?” Henry heard what he had said and cleared his throat. “Dancing I mean. Those swirling skirts…”

“If I were more of a flirt I’d ask if I wasn’t a pretty picture anyway,” James said softly, running his fingers through his hair to try and return it to some semblance of order. “Thank you. For the compliment and the assistance.” He touched Henry’s cuff as he spoke, fingertips knocking the buttons there before trailing gently down the back of his hand.

He had offered affection in intimacy in this same way ever since _ Excellence_, a gesture that was so careful and tender it had shocked Henry the first few times James had done it. 

Not that he had thought such actions beyond James. He had seen the gentleness he kept just beneath the face he showed the world, it was simply that he allowed Henry of all people to see it. Henry had often thought that it was only his personable nature that saved him from being awfully middle of the road and frightfully dull, and yet within a week of stepping aboard _ HMS Excellence _ James Fitzjames - witty, athletic, popular, intelligent, epicentre of all japes James Fitzjames - had become his friend. Which was a surprise in itself, and then James had utterly confounded Henry by returning what he thought would be long unrequited emotions.

He had asked James once, while they stood on the quarterdeck of the _ Clio _ watching India slip over the sunbathed horizon, how on earth what ever this was had come about.

“_You make me laugh," _ James had shrugged. "_And you do not sit and wait for me to make you laugh. Which I suppose is as good a reason as any._”

“Might I be an insolent fellow and chance a stolen kiss?” Henry asked now, in the wholly less sunny arctic, just to see James smile. 

“You might have one given freely,” James said quietly, brushing his fingers under Henry’s jaw before leaning in to give him a chaste kiss. Then another, and when he made to pull away Henry, in a very ungentlemanly action, took him by the arms and held James still as he kissed him thoroughly. 

James let out a sound of surprise, at first gripping onto Henry's coat as he tripped into him, then smoothing his hands between them to tug at the collar of his waistcoat, smiling into the kiss.

Henry slipped his arms around James' waist to hold him close, pressing lighter kisses to his lips until they were simply folded together in an embrace. 

"Well, you thoroughly stole that kiss from me, didn't you."

"I became rather a privateer, I will admit."

"_Privateer_," James laughed, pressing his lips to the corner of Henry’s mouth. "You have too much of a dear heart to be a rogue."

Henry was not quite sure what to say to that, so he kissed James again, and again, ending up leaning (rather uncomfortably) on the rail of James' bunk. James' cravat had become opened and Henry ducked his head to kiss the delicate skin of his throat, slipping his hand up under James' gansey to touch the curve of his lower back though his shirt. 

James shifted closer, pushing his knee between Henry's legs so they were pressed together from thigh to shoulder, James warm and wonderfully solid. Henry sighed against James' neck, roughly untucking his shirt so he could run his chilled fingers over his bare skin that turned to goosebumps in their wake.

"Sorry," Henry breathed, making to pull his hand away, but James stopped him, instead moving his hand further inside his shirt.

"We'll warm one another," James muttered as he cupped Henry's cheek, his thumb tracing Henry's cheekbone with such tenderness that he had to kiss James again, slowly, but he hoped not lacking in passion.

He was aching in his own linens by now but he did not make a move to relieve himself, instead walking his hand down James' back to dig his fingers into the meat of his backside. James jerked against him, tightening his grip on Henry's hair as he pulled away just enough to let his warm breath wash over Henry's kiss tender lips.

James dragged Henry's cravat off, undoing a few shirt buttons so he could trail his fingers down to the top of his chest, continuing along a line of buttons on his waistcoat until he reached the front of Henry's trousers.

"There is something to say about hidden treasure," James said as he rubbed at Henry's prick through his clothes. "But I fear it would be such dross that you'd scoff at me."

"I think if you were to put your hand on me you could spout as much doggerel as you liked."

James stifled a laugh and set to opening Henry's trousers, peppering his neck with kisses when he finally reached into his linens.

"Oh…" Henry gasped, gripping the rail at his back as James started to frig him. His hand was warm and rough, the wool of his sleeve scratching at the delicate skin of Henry's abdomen that was shocked to find itself exposed to the cool air. It made him gasp again, not too loudly, and he squeezed James' backside in a vague thought of encouraging him to use his thigh to rut against.

James brushed his smile against Henry's cheek, slipping fingertips under his waistcoat to press into his belly. "Thoroughly docked, am I?"

Henry tilted his head to hold James' gaze, easing his grip on his rear. "I cannot engage in speaking in innuendos with your _ ah _\- current attentions."

James twisted his fist as he tugged Henry's prick, swallowing the noise he made with a kiss. "Bite your cuff," he whispered, and Henry barely got the wool in between his teeth before James was carefully dropping to his knees.

They both paused, listening hard for the sound of voices or movement coming close. Not that Henry could hear much over the sound of his own breathing as he stared down at James, watching as he tugged at Henry’s linens to expose him to the cold air. James grasped him before he could flinch, his warm eyes flicking up to hold Henry’s gaze as he bent to put his mouth on him. 

Henry tightened his grip on the rail he was leaning against, breathing out hard through his nose as James moved his tongue in a way that had Henry’s toes curling in his boots. He had never been a regular of the _ dockside ladies _ simply because his head had always been full of romantic notions, and had never thought of such a thing as this until James had offered one fervent night ashore in Portsmouth. Henry had been so shocked and overwhelmed that he had been unable to unload, as it were, which was definately not going to be a problem this time. 

James’s hands were on his hips, pressing just hard enough for Henry to feel them, fingertips digging in ever so slightly whenever James swallowed hard around him. Henry dug his teeth into his cuff hard to stifle a moan, feeling his knees begin to wobble when James took his prick deep into his mouth and echoed the moan back to him, the vibration feeling like it went right through Henry and into the bunk. 

James glanced up at him again before dropped his gaze, moving his tongue against the underside of Henry’s prick before going back to moving his mouth along him. 

The last time they had indulged like this had been the week before their departure from Greenhithe, so Henry did not allow himself to be embarrassed by how soon the paroxysm had come upon him. He let go of the rail to grab at James’ shoulder, not daring to take his cuff from between his teeth to warn him, and felt a groan reverberate in his chest when James doubled his efforts. 

He finally let go with a groan that was loud even when muffled by his sleeve, not that he noticed at all what with James still working him until he softened. Henry sagged back against the bunk, feeling both wide awake and like all the energy had been pulled from him as he watched James sit back on his heels.

He had a healthy flush high on his cheekbones, and Henry could see the bob of his pale throat as he swallowed hard twice. Henry was so dazed that he only remembered he still had his sleeve in his mouth when James passed the back of his hand over his well used lips, wiping away the evidence of what he had done. He let that hand fall to James' shoulder as well, squeezing gently to get him to look up at him. His eyes were bright and beautifully dark, crinkling at the corners as he shot a crooked smile up at Henry before turning to set him to rights. 

It was when James ducked forward to press a kiss to Henry’s belly before tugging his shirt down that something burning and wanting in him overwhelmed his polite gentleness. He took James by the arms and hauled him to his feet, not allowing James to find his feet before he pushed him back against the bulkhead.

“I say..." James breathed, grabbing onto Henry's’ arms as he spat into his hand then wrenched James’ trousers open. 

There was nothing finessed or skilled about it, just Henry leaning his weight into James to keep him upright as he frigged him hard and fast. James was better at keeping quiet than Henry, had more practice at it, and swallowed down every hiccuping noise he would be making if they had been truly alone. He was breathing hard, biting at his already bruised lips, and Henry ducked in to kiss him with slightly more gentleness than he was using on him elsewhere. 

James held Henry’s arms hard enough to bruise, bucking his hips up and almost knocking Henry off him once or twice, but Henry was of sailing stock and held him fast, tucking his face into James’ throat when he shuddered violently and spilled all over Henry’s hand. 

“_Oh Henry_,” James sighed as he caught his breath, and had been about to laugh when they heard the thud of heavy footsteps come up the corridor. 

They leapt apart, James scrabbling to tuck himself away as Henry quickly cleaned his hand in James’ wash basin. There would be no hope to redo their cravats in such a hurry, and Henry could only hope that the cabin did not have the smell of a bordello about it as he dropped down into James’ desk chair. 

James hopped up onto his bunk, sitting with his long legs dangling over the rail like he usually did, and began speaking in nonsensical French just as there was a knock on the outside wall of his cabin. 

“_Entre!” _ James called, and the door slid open to allow Fairholme’s head to poke around it.

“I take that to mean ‘enter’ in the Queen’s best?”

“A linguist!” Henry joked, smiling when James laughed.

“I say I shall be chattering on with you fellows in no time,” Fairholme declared as he leant on the door frame. “I thought I’d come and announce myself as the advanced party of the great return to _ Erebus_.”

“How was _ Terror_?”

“Sir John and Captain Crozier recalled past festivities upon the ice. It was quite genial,” Fairholme shrugged, then turned to show them the snow on the back of his greatcoat. “My journey back was less than genial. I do believe Mr.Blanky was leading the assault.”

“They got us too,” James said as he indicated the damp spots on Henry’s coat, and he hoped he was not awkward about covering the much larger one on his cuff. “They are in good spirits, so I don’t mind. As long as the petty officers don’t storm our cabins later.”

“I shall barricade myself in to protect against it. Well, that is all I wished to say. I am turning in as I have first watch tomorrow and don’t want too sore a head.”

“Goodnight James.”

“Yes, goodnight.”

Fairholme nodded to them both, stepped away, then reappeared in the doorway. “I’ll shut this to keep your Frenchery secret,” he said with a wink, and slid the cabin door closed again. 

James flopped back against his bookshelves when Fairholme’s steps retreated to his cabin, breathing a great sigh of relief as he met Henry’s eyes. “Damned close thing, eh?”

“A warning, I daresay,” Henry agreed, reaching out to take James’ hand and kiss it. “But a risk most worth taking.”

James gave him a beatific smile, and pulled himself to sit upright again with the help of Henry’s hand. “Happy Sunrise, Dundy,” James said, twisting their joined hands so he could kiss the inside of Henry’s wrist. 

“Happy Sunrise, my dear James,” Henry whispered. He stood to plant a last kiss on James’ lips, committing it to memory as this may be their last chance to dare such a thing until they reached the Sandwich Islands. 

**Author's Note:**

> For you eagle eyed readers, I did steal a lot of the party descriptions (and the snowballs) from Erebus by Michael Palin (both the winter in the Antarctic and the party in Hobart)
> 
> French Translation - "Mais je ne suis pas si charmant" = But not as lovely
> 
> In case anyone doesn't know the song in the fic, it's [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya3MCYeGXCQ)
> 
>   
now with art by oochilka


End file.
